North of Athens

Cruiser Tank Mk.II¹
(Source)

Private James Fitzhugh of the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment wondered if his luck would ever change. First he'd been sent to France as a replacement. He had joined the remnants of his regiment retreating towards Cherbourg. Some elements of the regiment had been trapped in Dunkirk where a number of them had been evacuated. All of their tanks stayed in France, destroyed or captured. The group he'd been with had headed towards Cherbourg, they had a single tank left. It had thrown a track just before entering Cherbourg. They had destroyed that vehicle rather than let it fall into enemy hands.

Then he had found himself on a ship to Egypt along with his current crew -

Commander, Sergeant Theodore O'Connell

Gunner, Corporal Fred McTavish

Driver, Private James Fitzhugh

Loader, Private William O'Shea

Bow MG Gunner, Private Herbert Walsh

He had remarked that he was happy to be with an all Irish crew, Corporal McTavish had corrected him immediately, "I'm a Scot laddie, and dinnae ye forget it. I'm here to keep you Irish in line."

That remark had drawn a dirty look from Sergeant O'Connell who said, "And who's to watch you?"

It didn't take Fitzhugh long to realize that the crew was a tight-knit bunch and got along with each other very well. Once he'd established his skill as a driver, he had been accepted as part of the crew.

Now here they were, no longer in Egypt but motoring up a narrow road in the backcountry of Greece. The Germans had invaded after their Italian allies had once again made a great hash of the job. The Prime Minister vowed to assist the Greeks in any way he could, so from Egypt to Greece they went.

"Fitzie, keep yer eyes peeled, this road ain't much more than a goat track!" Sgt. O'Connell barked at him over the intercom. He sounded as if Fitzhugh was hitting all the ruts on purpose. "Bloody road is nothing but ruts." Fitzhugh muttered, making sure that his mic wasn't on.

Fitzhugh then noticed that he was getting closer to the tank to his immediate front, so he slowed down.

They were near an open area, rocky fields to either side of the track. Fitzhugh was ready to move before O'Connell gave the order to turn off to the right. The platoon was deploying, Fitzhugh had to wonder why.

As he reoriented the tank to face the direction they'd been heading, he saw a sickening sight not a hundred yards up the track. A British tank sitting in the road, burning furiously.

"Panzergranate geladen! the loader sang out as he pulled his hand clear of the breech of the 5.0 cm gun.

The gunner stomped on his trigger sending the round down range. He watched as the second Tommie tank abruptly stopped. In the blink of an eye the edges of the hatches began to leak smoke.

When the loader sang out again, the commander laid his hand on his gunner's shoulder, over the intercom he said, "Wait."

The bow gunner opened fire as the crew of the British tank began to evacuate their disabled vehicle. At least one man went down. Before he could swing his gun to another target, the inside of the turret rang like a bell being struck by a hammer.

"That's a hit, Freddie, nice shooting. Damn it! Reverse Fitzie, fast as you can!" Sgt. O'Connell had seen the enemy tank's turret, he thought it was one of the newer Mark IIIs, begin to rotate towards their position.

Though they were mostly hull down, the turret on the big Mark II presented a rather large target.

"No effect on the target Teddy!" McTavish screamed over the intercom.

Fitzhugh had the tank in reverse and was applying left stick to get behind the burning wreckage of Will McDonough's tank. He nearly made it.

Everyone in the crew felt the hit, somewhere on the outside of the tank, it didn't enter the hull. Then everyone heard Fitzhugh yelling, "Shit, shit, shit! Right track is buggered!"

Angered at the situation, O'Connell managed to keep his cool. "Right then lads, over the side with you, rendezvous back at that farm house we passed on the way in!"

The men got out cleanly, though young Willie O'Shea managed to sprain his left ankle jumping down from the machine. Fitzhugh and Walsh half-dragged and half-carried him back to the rally point.

"What now Sar'nt?" Fitzhugh asked.

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, a party of riflemen passed by, heading forward to take up defensive positions. Their officer, a captain, looked at the tank crew and yelled, "You lot better sod off to the rear, we'll cover. We're withdrawing soon as everyone's clear!"

Fitzhugh shook his head, was he destined to go from one defeat to another? Maybe his old Da' had been right, but it was too late for second thoughts now. He was at the sharp end now, no mistake!

¹ Most of the known photos of this vehicle in France and Greece are knocked out, broken down, or captured by the Germans. This is one of the very few depicted in France still operating and in British control.