Hearts of Stone (34 page)

Chapter Thirty-One

A
t once Peter reached for his holster, snatched out his pistol and cocked the weapon. He lowered into a crouch and turned away from the cliff as the valley filled with the sounds of shooting and explosions. He scurried back through the thin belt of scrub and stunted trees and stopped just before the open ground to take stock of the situation.

The mountain troops had taken cover and some were returning fire as they began to locate the enemy’s positions, given away by faint puffs of smoke and muzzle flashes dotted across the slope of the hill opposite the cliff. Peter picked out one man slumped over a boulder, a slick of bright red blood spreading down the side of the rock. One of his comrades reached up and pulled him down, examined him briefly and then rolled him on to his back and emptied his cartridge pouches before crawling to a more secure firing position as divots of earth burst from the ground a short distance away. There was movement elsewhere as men darted about to find positions of greatest safety from where they could shoot back at the
andartes
. He could hear the shouts of Hauptmann Dietrich and his sergeants as they tried to take control of the sudden chaos.

Forcing himself to stay calm, Peter gripped his pistol tightly and looked out over the open ground between the base of the cliff and the sheds at the centre of the dig. Twenty paces away was an overgrown mound of spoil that would provide shelter from the enemy on the hill. He rose up slightly, braced his boots and then sprang out from the trees and raced into the open. Even though his instinct told him to run as fast as possible for the mound, he did as he had been trained to do and ran in an indirect line, swerving to the left and right to make it difficult for any enemy to draw a bead on him. He reached the mound and threw himself on to the ground behind it, heart pounding. He lay still briefly before crawling round so that he could see the enemy’s position, as well as the shed where he had last seen Dietrich. Then he recalled Steiner and looked away to his left, but there was no sign of movement towards the far end of the cliff. The SS officer might be taking shelter there, or he might be doing the same as Peter and trying to rejoin the others. Peter put thought of him aside and set his pistol down carefully before taking out his field glasses and training them on the slope of the hill opposite, in the area where he had seen a concentration of muzzle flashes a moment earlier.

Through the eye cups he saw a circular image of the hillside in crisp detail and began to pan over the rocks and shrubs carefully until he caught a flicker of movement and saw the head and shoulders of a darkly featured islander rise up over a rock and take aim swiftly with a sub-machine gun. Fire darted from the muzzle and Peter fancied he could pick out the rattle of the shots a moment later through the cacophony of battle raging in the small valley. He continued his search until he concluded there were no more than twenty of the enemy opposed to Dietrich’s half company. The Germans outnumbered the
andartes
more than two to one, and the odds would increase in their favour if the men who had been sent to guard the trucks heard the sound of firing and turned about to come to their comrades’ aid. He returned the field glasses to their case and prepared to move, picking an overgrown trench fifty metres from the shed. Taking his pistol up, Peter hunched behind the mound, tensing his body, ready to spring forward again. He waited a moment to allow the mountain troops’ return fire to build. Then the rapid
brrrrr
of a Spandau machine gun cut through the dusk and vivid streaks of tracer flashed across the valley floor and lashed the hillside.

Peter rose and ran forward again, zigzagging, praying that the enemy would be too distracted by the German fire and the targets they had already chosen to pay him any attention. Then he heard a sharp zip close by and saw fragments burst off the side of a small boulder directly ahead. An instant later he heard the crack of a rifle above and behind him and felt a stab of terror as he realised there were more of the enemy on top of the cliff, sniping down into the valley. There was no time to look back and he ran to the right for three paces then two to the left. Another shot zipped close by and the report of the gun followed it. Then he reached the trench and threw himself into it, pressing himself against the stones and dirt at the bottom. Too late he realised that this was the old latrine ditch at the dig, but there was no time for disgust and, in any case, the human waste had long since been washed into the ground. Crawling forward a short distance Peter hugged the side of the ditch closest to the cliff, breathing hard.

Outnumbered the enemy might well be, but they held the high ground and had the mountain troops caught in a crossfire. He could hear Dietrich and the others clearly now, shouting at his men to return fire and suppress the enemy. Orders that were far more easily learned in training than obeyed in combat, Peter reflected bitterly. He holstered his pistol and continued along the latrine trench until he came to the end and lay catching his breath. The end of the trench had partially collapsed and Peter raised his head cautiously until he could glimpse the top of the cliff. A moment later a thin puff of smoke marked the position of one of the snipers. He continued to watch until he heard a few more shots and decided that there were only a handful of men up there.

Dietrich’s second machine-gun section joined the fight and the bursts of the Spandaus dominated the exchange of fire in the valley.

‘Conserve your ammo!’ Dietrich’s voice cried out. ‘Fire only if you can see ’em!’

Peter heard the order relayed by the non-commissioned officers as he prepared to move again. He knew that this time would be far more dangerous as the sniper who had narrowly missed him earlier would have seen him enter the latrine trench and would be waiting for him to emerge. But there was no helping it, Peter realised. He could not stay in the trench for the rest of the firefight. He was an officer and even though he did not belong to this unit he still had an obligation to set an example to the men of lesser rank. Even so, he could do something to improve his chances.

Drawing a breath he cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘Hauptmann Dietrich! Sir!’

A rattle of fire drowned out his cry and he waited for a lull before calling out again.

‘Muller? That you?’

‘Yes, sir!’

‘Where are you man?’

‘Latrine trench, close to the main shed.’

Another burst from one of the Spandaus interrupted the exchange briefly before Dietrich called out again.

‘I’m in amongst some boulders in front of the shed. Can you get to me?’

Peter hesitated a moment before he cleared his throat. ‘Yes, sir. But there are snipers on top of the cliff.’

‘I’ve seen ’em.’

‘One of them has me pinned down, sir. Could you order some covering fire?’

‘Right . . . Move when I say. Understood?’

‘Yes, sir.’

He heard Dietrich shouting to the men around him and a moment later a fusillade of rifle and automatic fire spattered the rocks and trees along the top of the cliff, the tracer shells lighting up the cliff face in lurid flashes.

‘Now, Muller!’

Peter scrambled up, out of the trench, and ran hunched towards the front of the shed. He could see Dietrich rise up slightly to beckon to him and he pumped his legs harder, sprinting for the cover of the boulders. In the last ten paces the snipers on top of the ridge opened fire, despite the intense covering fire of the moutain troops. At least one of them had a sub-machine gun and spouts of earth leaped up in a line running past Peter’s side and he lurched away to stop his enemy tracking the shots on to him. Then he stumbled a few paces short of the rocks and made another two steps before he crashed on to the ground, the air driven from his lungs. Winded, he struggled to rise and then he felt hands roughly grasp him under the arms and haul him up. He saw Dietrich scowling.

‘Clumsy fuck! Let’s go.’

The officer dragged him on and they scurried the final few paces towards shelter. As he threw himself down, Peter heard the whipcrack of a passing round and the soft thud of its impact, then a snatched exhaled grunt. He heard Dietrich hit the ground beside him and felt the weight of his body slam into his side. Swallowing, Peter raised his head and smiled ruefully.

‘We made it. Sir . . .’

Dietrich was gasping for breath and his body began to shake.

‘Sir?’ Peter pushed the other man away and rose up on his elbows. He looked down on the back of the mountain officer’s tunic and saw the small hole ripped through the cloth and the blood seeping around it.

‘The Hauptmann’s hit!’ he shouted, rising to his knees and pulling Dietrich further into the jumble of boulders and rocks as a shot ricocheted nearby. A soldier appeared ahead of him and grabbed Dietrich’s other arm and between them they dragged him out of the line of fire. A Feldwebel – sergeant – scurried over and laid his machine pistol down so that he could turn the officer over. Dietrich’s head lolled to the side and his eyes rose into his skull as he let out a low moan and frothy blood sprayed from his lips. Peter could see a ragged hole in his chest, just above his medal ribbons and the Iron Cross on his left breast pocket. Blood was pulsing from the wound and the sergeant immediately pressed his hand on it and applied pressure.

‘Medic! Over here!’ he bellowed.

Peter leaned back against a rock still struggling for breath as the Feldwebel anxiously tended to his officer. Dietrich convulsed, his back arching as a horrible gurgling groan tore from his bloodied lips.

‘Help me!’ the Feldwebel instructed. ‘Sir. Help me!’

Peter stirred and knelt over the opposite side of the body. ‘What do I do?’

‘Keep the pressure on the wound.’

Peter reached forward and the other man took his hand and thrust it into the hot mess over the exit wound. Gritting his teeth, Peter pushed down firmly while the Feldwebel turned to look for the medic, who was darting from cover to cover towards them, the red cross on his helmet offering no protection from the
andartes
firing from the hillside. He dropped to his knees beside Dietrich’s head and instantly assessed the type of wound and reached into his dressing bag.

‘Get his jacket and shirt open,’ he instructed and the Feldwebel fumbled with the buttons, tearing the material back. Peter lifted his hands briefly as the bloodied shirt came apart and exposed the gaping hole in the chest. The medic pressed the dressing against the exit wound and nodded to Peter to resume his pressure. Dietrich suddenly tried to sit up, neck muscles straining like cords.

‘Hold him!’

All three thrust the injured officer down and held him on the ground until the spasm passed and his body went limp.

‘Shit . . .’ The medic pressed his stained fingers against Dietrich’s throat for an instant and then gently lifted the Hauptmann’s eyelids and saw that the pupils did not react. He slumped back with an angry grunt. ‘He’s fucked . . . You can take your hands off, Leutnant.’

The Feldwebel swore softly and picked up his machine pistol again before he turned to Peter. He was a short, stocky man with a broad jaw below his broken nose. ‘What are your orders, sir?’

‘My orders?’ Peter blinked.

‘You’re the surviving officer on the spot. That puts you in command.’

‘What about Steiner?’

‘Haven’t seen him since the firing started. Beside, he’s an SS flunkie. We need a proper army officer in charge, sir.’

‘Right . . .’ Peter cleared his head and looked round. ‘What’s the situation with the rest of the company, as far as you can tell, Feldwebel . . . ?’

‘Feldwebel Kramer, sir.’

‘Kramer.’ Peter nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘Most of the men were in the area around the shed when the firing started. Some of us took cover here, the rest went to ground. I’ve got one Spandau team trying to keep the bastards’ heads down on that hill. The other team’s watching the crest of the ridge. Trouble is, the other side’s got us in a crossfire.’

‘What about our casualties?’ Peter turned to the medic.

‘Besides the Hauptmann, there’s four dead and another five wounded.’

Peter took a deep, quick breath. ‘We can’t stay here. They’ll pick us off until night falls. We have to make a move on them.’

Kramer nodded and turned to scan the ground around their position. ‘There’s a raised bank.’ He pointed to a series of heaps of overgrown spoil from the dig. ‘We can work our way towards the olive trees, sir. If we can get two squads over there we can work our way up the slope and fire on their flank. Provided the snipers don’t get us.’

Peter nodded. ‘The Spandau can keep up a continuous fire on the snipers. Best tell them to conserve their ammo until we’re ready to move.’

Kramer raised an eyebrow. ‘We?’

‘I’ll lead the attack. You’ll come with me. Anything happens to me then you take command. I assume the wound badge and the guide badge on your chest aren’t just there for appearances’ sake.’

Kramer grinned, revealing a gap in teeth. ‘Too right, sir.’

‘Good.’ Peter nodded. ‘Get two squads here and tell the machine gunners and those that are staying here that they’re to give us all the covering fire they can when I give the word to go.’

Kramer saluted and crept away amongst the rocks to gather his men and issue Peter’s instructions to those remaining behind. Peter realised that he would need a better weapon than his pistol and saw Dietrich’s machine pistol lying on the grass a short distance from his body. He unfastened the webbing belt from the dead man and shuffled in to it before he took up his weapon, checking it quickly to make sure that it had not been damaged when it had been dropped. The MP38 seemed fine and its weight and dark metallic gleam felt comforting in Peter’s hand. He slipped the sling over his neck and waited for Kramer to return. The firing slackened as both sides began to conserve their ammunition and save it for targets they could see clearly. It took less than ten minutes for Kramer to return with the men he had chosen for the task. One man had already been wounded and blood flowed from a deep gash on his cheek. The sun had dipped far beyond the rim of the hillside to the west and an orange hue burned along its crest. Peter explained his orders quickly and made sure the men understood him. They looked hardened and capable and he sensed that they would not let him down. They would not need any final words of encouragement.