The Canal

Grande-Synthe, Canal de Bourbourg, Southwest of Dunkirk
(Source)

Fahnenjunker-Unteroffizier Jürgen von Lüttwitz looked back at his squad, for since the death of Max Harzer he was the squad leader. The platoon leader, Leutnant Fritz Acker had given him the squad on the day Harzer was killed in action. Harzer had been an insufferable prick, no one really missed him.

The men were clearly exhausted, the day before had seen them once again having to clear a village that the Panzer boys had reported as "secured." The platoon had taken losses and was understrength to begin with but at least they had gotten through the last village with no casualties. Though Schütze Groß had a cut on his cheek from a ricochet off one of the village's brick walls.

"You won't be getting a Verwundetenabzeichen¹ for that scratch Christoph, so quit bitching and grab that ammo can." assistant squad leader Gefreiter Johannes Grüner said that with a grin as the Sanitäter, Obergefreiter Willi Baumann, finished patching the wound.

In addition to Grüner and Groß, von Lüttwitz's squad had six other men: Bodo Hermann, Michael Offenbach, Wolf Gessler, Karl Wachsmuth, Hans Warstadt, and Walter Schnabel. All of whom were privates. Offenbach was the oldest man in the squad at 32, everybody called him der Alte, the "Old One."

Von Lüttwitz halted the squad when he saw the lieutenant signal for a halt and for the squad leaders to gather at his position. Jogging forward, Jürgen couldn't help but wonder what new obstacle lay in the platoon's path.

"Jürgen, I have a mission for you." Leutnant Acker said as he unfolded his map. "Tomorrow morning, take your squad and Wittmann's as well and proceed to this position here." He pointed at the map.

Jürgen leaned in and saw that Acker was pointing at a spot along a canal, of which there seemed to be hundreds in this area.

"The map shows a bridge here. We need it. If the enemy are in force, send word back and we'll have the Luftwaffe work them over. Otherwise take that bridge. Questions?"

"Tomorrow Herr Leutnant? Why not today?" Jürgen asked.

"We've been ordered to hold in place for the moment. Battalion thinks we can send a reconnaissance out, but regiment is dragging their feet, they say they need permission from division."

Jürgen shook his head, "But we've got the Tommies on the run!"

"I know, but I've been told the Luftwaffe claims they need us to stay clear, they can destroy the Tommies from the air. It's nonsense, I know, but those are the orders."

"Understood Sir, we'll leave before dawn."

"If we get permission from battalion, I should have that soon. I hope."

Lance Corporal Billy Wallace and his squad had been reunited with their parent battalion and were now set up in a ruined farmhouse overlooking a canal, less than two miles to the southwest of Dunkirk. The Channel was less than four miles to the north, one of the men, Alfie Morris, claimed he could smell the sea.²

They had parted ways with Sergeant Major Cornwell the day before, the men seemed to like the man, he'd proven himself to them during the farmhouse assault. Billy had cautioned the lads to stop referring to the Sergeant Major as "the wee man." Cornwell was small in stature, but he was, after all, a very senior noncommissioned officer.

Billy was having trouble keeping his eyes open, he had never been this tired in his entire life. Private Teddy Fraser came into the upstairs room where Billy was watching the canal, "Corp, go get some sleep, I'll keep an eye on things. You're dead on yer feet. man."

Billy blinked, rubbed his eyes, then stood up, "If you see anything stir over there, wake me. If the Jerries show up at all. I think they mean to bomb us into submission."

They hadn't seen any German ground troops since the farmhouse, but German aircraft had been coming and going constantly. They could even feel the bomb concussions from the port, some three miles away. Occasionally a German fighter would swoop down and strafe anything  moving on the roads. It was wise to stay undercover during the day.

Which is why Billy came fully awake when he heard a car coming down the road. What fecking idiot was driving about in broad daylight? Peering out the window, he saw their platoon commander, 2nd Lieutenant Joseph Miles-Roberts driving a small French Citroën. Where the Hell did he get that and why was he driving himself?

"Keep an eye on things Teddy, I need to see what the leftenant wants."

Billy heard someone bark "Shun!"³ from the ground floor as he went down the stairs. He'd have to talk to Alfie Morris about that, lad came over straight from training and was still operating on peacetime habits. A good way to get an officer killed if they were out in the open.

"Sir, what can we do for you?" Billy said as he stepped off the stairs.

"Ah, Wolters, very good." Miles-Roberts began.

"It's Wallace, Sir, Billy Wallace."

"Of course it is, sorry Lance Corporal. Where is your sergeant? Graves isn't it?"

Billy rolled his eyes, "Greaves Sir, Sergeant Greaves, he's dead Sir. Outside Lille. I'm surprised you didn't know."

"Quite, things have been confused Lance Corporal, I'm sure you understand."

Billy didn't really understand, he hadn't seen his platoon leader in over a week. But confused? the Germans were driving them out of France, off the Continent for that matter, and the lieutenant thought things were "confused"? It was a right bloody fiasco, that's what Billy thought.

"So, Lance Corporal Wallace, I am in need of a driver, perhaps one of your lot?"

Billy thought for a moment, the company commander, Captain Seamus O'Neal, had place him and his squad here, he couldn't spare a man. So he answered ...

"Won't do, Sir. Cap'n O'Neal placed us here, said to watch the canal. We're understrength as it is, sorry Sir."

Miles-Roberts paused, then said, "I could order you Wallace, I am your platoon commander."

"And I'd have to decline. Sir. The Cap'n outranks you, only he or the battalion commander could shift me, or any of my lads, from this position. Sorry. Sir."

"You're refusing a direct order?" Miles-Roberts asked, his face a mask of upper class disdain.

"No Sir, I'm refusing to disobey my company commander's orders. Sorry Sir."

"I see, you know I have to report this. You do understand that much, yes Lance Corporal?"

"Yes Sir, I understand."

Miles-Roberts turned to leave but Billy said, "Sir, could ye no wait until dark? The Jerries are strafing anything moving on the roads."

Miles-Roberts shook his head then left. When Willie heard the engine on the Citroën start up, he told Connor, "Get up to the second floor, keep an eye out for Jerry airplanes. Take the Lewis gun, you'll need it."

Feldwebel Maximilian von Thalberg was bored. His squadron was again escorting a flight of Heinkel He-111 bombers on yet another mission to destroy port facilities along the coast. Calais had been today's target. He perked up when he heard his call sign.

"Blue 3. Blue Leader."

"Go ahead Blue Leader."

"Why don't you take your wingman and beat up the roads on the way back?"

"Blue 3, love to!" Followed by, "Blue 4, with me."

The two Messerschmitt Bf-109 E-3s dove slightly to leave the formation, then rolled to a new heading. Von Thalberg thought to prowl the roads to the southwest of Dunkirk, the squadron Intel officer had told him of lots of vehicle traffic in that area as the British withdrew into the port city.

Sure enough, on the road leading into the Dunkirk suburb of Grande-Synthe there was a vehicle. It was only a single car but it was, in von Thalberg's mind, a legitimate target. He decided to let his wingman do the deed, the man needed the experience.

"Horst, want to do the honors?"

"Aber natürlich, Max! Danke!"

Miles-Roberts was fuming, how dare the bloody man refuse his order. As much as he liked to drive, he thought it unseemly for a commissioned officer to drive himself. He was still angry that the company commander had taken away his batman. Of all the bloody nerve, he was beginning to regret taking a commission in a Scottish regiment.

As he drove along he was oblivious to his surroundings, he was thinking of ways to make that Scots corporal look even more disobedient than he had actually been. Miles-Roberts would be satisfied with nothing less than seeing that upstart corporal broken back to private, maybe some time in the glasshouse⁴ as well!

The young lieutenant jumped when a shower of debris flew up from the road and hit the small car, causing it to swerve. Miles-Roberts nearly drove off into the canal but recovered nicely. As he looked up ahead, he saw a shadow pass over the car. A bloody Messerschmitt! Bastard had strafed him, he looked for a place to get off the road, but there was the canal to his right and marsh to his left. So he sped up.

"Sorry Max, I missed the bastard!" Unteroffizier Horst Kronenberg swore as he pulled back on the stick and prepared to go around for another go.

"No problem Horst, I've got him."

2nd Lieutenant Joseph Miles-Roberts felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. As he tried to catch his breath he felt heat behind him. It felt like the car was on fire, he should pull over, he thought.

He lost consciousness moments before the car went off the road and into the canal. The car had been on fire, the water took care of that. It also took care of the lieutenant, who drowned before the massive wounds he had received from the strafing German aircraft could kill him.

The car was recovered from the canal in 1948, Miles-Roberts body was never found.

¹ Wound Badge, the German equivalent of the American Purple Heart, it came in three grades: Black (3rd class, representing Iron), for those wounded once or twice by hostile action, Silver (2nd class) for being wounded three or four times, Gold (1st class, which could be awarded posthumously) for five or more times wounded.

² Saltwater by itself doesn’t have any smell, but the things that live in it certainly do. The rather stale, sulphury smell is dimethyl sulphide, produced by bacteria as they digest dead phytoplankton. At low tide, you’ll also smell chemicals called dictyopterenes, which are sex pheromones produced by seaweed eggs to attract the sperm. And on top of all this is the ‘iodine’ smell of the sea, which is actually the bromophenols produced by marine worms and algae. (Source)

³ The proper way to call a room to attention in the British Army.

⁴ British military prison