Reckoning by Tim Oliver

Author:Tim Oliver [Oliver, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rivercourt Reads
Published: 2019-09-18T06:00:00+00:00

14

“Sweet suffering Christ,” Pendle said as the Germans limped away.

“Nasty little bastards,” Marsh commented with satisfaction. “They’ll have felt that! Just be thankful it wasn’t you running over it!”

“Amen,” Pendle replied. “Ah – bloody – men.”

Scottsdale silently agreed. The effect had been shocking, far better than he hoped. He let that expression hang in his mind for a moment; it had to be as devastating as possible, but did he really hope for it?

The thought was stilled as the momentary lull was shattered by renewed German fire. It came on with a desperate ferocity, as if in affront at the temerity of the British resistance. Bullets smacked into the house, the snarl of machine gun and rifle rending the air. A tempest flooded over them. Enemy infantry worked into the houses along the entrance and from cover poured fire onto the house. Upstairs, Levingston and Wilkins tried to use the advantage of their position, but they were targeted, hot metal swamping the windows. They ducked down as the sheer weight of fire drove them into cover, able only to occasionally pop up and snipe at the Germans. Downstairs, Marsh was cursing, hammering out short bursts with the Bren. Grant was methodically tracking targets through the smoke and dust but the grey shapes flitting through the square were harder marks to put down. They worked their way around the edges of the square, occupying houses and shops, while others scurried across the open space, using cars for cover. As the enemy infantry drew closer, their fire became more accurate, forcing the men down more frequently. Yet they were also more vulnerable, and Pendle hurled a grenade at a group that were sheltering by a truck; it shattered one end forcing them to duck back which exposed them to McManus’ rifle. One man went down, shrieking and holding his leg, before being dragged back into cover.

Scottsdale looked at the men. Their faces were blackened and filthy; the rank stench of cordite filled the air. The noose was closing, and it was only a matter of time before they were overwhelmed. He flinched as bullets spat by, goading his anger. “Keep firing!” he hollered, rising up to fire himself before ducking back to re-load. Yet the Germans were squeezing them in and he feared that they were being surrounded.

Grant caught his eye and scampered over. “They’re getting on top, sir!” he shouted.

“I know. Try and keep their heads down. We’ll move shortly.” He had an idea, a desperate one but it may just work. What they needed was one more distraction. Keeping low, he smashed the table and chairs into smaller pieces and piled it in the middle of the floor. A quick scavenge in a bureau yielded a bundle of papers which he added, along with the curtains that had been torn down. “Sergeant!” he shouted. “Give me a hand!”

Holding out his lighter to the pile, which took to the dry wood and paper immediately. He blew and nurdled it into greater vigour as Grant came over.

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