Right and Glory by Max Adams

Author:Max Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Canelo Books
Published: 2017-02-08T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 22

11 May 1940

Eastern Belgium

For an instant, time stood still as Dawson took in the unexpected – and massively unwelcome – sight. He’d hoped they’d left the enemy troops a long way behind, consolidating their hold over Liège. Or, if they’d already started to advance west, he and Sykes presumed they’d only use the main roads. What the hell was a squad of soldiers doing so deep in the woods?

With their route ahead completely blocked, Dawson did the only thing he could. He twisted the throttle and steered the motorcycle combination over to the left side of the clearing, where he could see a break in the undergrowth.

‘Hang on!’ he yelled, though his instruction was probably superfluous.

Sykes was already hunkering down in the sidecar, making himself a smaller target and at the same time jamming the knee of his good leg under the metal of the covering to wedge himself in. And he hadn’t forgotten the machine-gun.

As Dawson accelerated the vehicle across the clearing, Sykes swung the Mauser MG 34 towards the German troops and squeezed the trigger. The bucking and twisting of the sidecar made accurate shooting impossible, but the Mauser spat a hail of fire towards the enemy soldiers. They ducked and dived into cover, reaching for their weapons.

‘The half-track!’ Dawson shouted. ‘Go for the tyres. And the radio.’

The half-track was a reconnaissance vehicle, fitted with a large aerial and a radio set.

Sykes nodded, released the trigger and shifted his point of aim towards the parked vehicle. He concentrated on the radio first, then switched his aim to the front end of the half-track, the machine-gun bouncing up and down with the violent movement of the motorcycle combination.

Bullets smashed into the radiator and headlamps. Sykes tried to lower the barrel slightly, but it was all he could do to just keep the weapon pointing in the general direction of his target. A couple of rounds bounced off the steel of one of the front wheels of the half-track. He kept firing, more in hope than expectation, pouring an almost continuous stream of bullets towards the vehicle.

Then two things happened almost simultaneously. The Mauser’s bolt slammed open –the fifty-round magazine was empty – and there was a sudden loud bang as one of the front tyres of the half-track exploded.

But by then one of the German soldiers had his weapon and returned fire. There was a crack and a rifle bullet screamed past Dawson, slamming into the trunk of a tree on one side of the clearing.

The gap in the undergrowth Dawson was aiming for looked vanishingly small as he accelerated towards it. But they had nowhere else to go. No other options at all. With the Mauser machine-gun now out of ammunition, the only other effective close-quarter weapon they possessed was the Schmeisser machine-pistol he had slung around his neck. But Dawson knew that trying to take on half a dozen German front-line troops armed only with that would be nothing short of suicidal.

The combination bounced across the ground, the tyres scrabbling for grip, the engine roaring.

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