Swordpoint (2011) (20 page)

‘Well, I’ll need to know that we’re going to be able to get clear quickly when we go.’

‘When you go where?’

‘My orders are that as soon as you’re safely established on the other side we hitch up and move to the New Zealanders’ sector.’

‘My
information,’ Tallemach snapped, ‘was that you were here to help
us
.’

‘Until you’re across, sir! I’ve been informed that we’re to be down there in forty-eight hours.’

Tallemach couldn’t believe his ears. ‘We’re going to need support longer than that!’ he said. ‘Dammit, we can’t hold ground with half our guns taken away from us!’

The gunner colonel frowned, bridling a little and feeling he was being pushed around. ‘I understood this wasn’t a holding operation, sir,’ he said. ‘Just a feint for the crossing further up.’

Getting through to Division, Tallemach discovered that General Tonge had been called to Corps for a conference on the plan to link his bridgehead with the one that was to be thrown over further north. As a result, he had to talk to Heathfield instead.

Heathfield was feeling well satisfied with the way things were going. Marder’s report on his questioning of Pramstrangl lay on the desk in front of him, and he knew that Russians and Czechs in front of them inevitably meant an easier crossing. The soldiers of the German satellites were never as good as the Germans themselves. Most of them were conscripts longing for a German defeat to free their homelands, and none of them could see the point of dying for a country that had enslaved them.

He was still in a state of euphoria as he listened to Tallemach, until it suddenly dawned on him that what Tallemach was doing was not giving him an enthusiastic report but making a complaint, and being bloody-minded about it, too. ‘Whose bright idea was it,’ he was saying furiously, ‘that 19th Div. Artillery’s to be withdrawn after forty-eight hours?’

Heathfield came to life with a jerk. ‘Not mine,’ he said self-righteously. ‘Not the general’s either. It came down from the high altar.’

He knew he wasn’t being quite honest, because what had come down from the high altar had been merely a request. The fact that it was difficult to refuse was beside the point. He had agreed to it without protest, when a protest might have caused the request to be withdrawn.

Tallemach seemed to suspect something of the sort and his retort was sharp and angry.

‘Then you’d better get on to them,’ he said, ‘and tell them it’s not possible. Suppose there’s a delay here? My chaps can’t hold ground across the river without full artillery backing. Div. promised everything they could muster.’

‘My orders are unequivocal. I can’t alter them.’

‘This damn thing’s becoming ridiculous,’ Tallemach snapped. ‘Whose suggestion was it that the infantry use the secondary road from Capodozzi?’

‘I was given to understand that it would be impossible to use the San Bartolomeo approach.’ Heathfield sounded calm and sure of himself. ‘The general himself put forward the suggestion that you use it.’

‘Who reported on it?’

‘One of the general’s staff. He said it was all right and, with the engineers and the tanks using the San Bartolomeo road, it seemed perfectly suitable for your infantry.’

‘Well, it isn’t!’ Tallemach explained what the RASC officer had told him.

‘Can’t the men carry the boats from Capodozzi?’ Heathfield asked.

‘Have you ever tried to carry a boat over a mile and a half while you were laden down with ammunition, weapons and equipment? I dare bet you haven’t.’

‘No, that’s true,’ Heathfield admitted. ‘But the report was that it was a perfectly good road and that lorries would be able to transport the boats down.’

‘Lorries, yes. They’ve arrived in Scammells and you know how big they are.’

‘Can’t they be transferred?’

‘What into? There’s nothing that isn’t already earmarked. How are these men expected to fight their way into San Eusebio when they’ll be exhausted before they start?’

Heathfield’s voice was cold. ‘You’ll just have to do the best you can,’ he said. ‘We have our orders as you do. It’s not easy here either.’

‘I’m sure it isn’t! All those bits of paper that have to be rewritten!’ Tallemach couldn’t resist the jibe and it made Heathfield’s temper flare.

‘It’s your job to get your people across the river, not pick fights with me, Tallemach!’ he snapped.

‘They’ll be lucky to get across the river at all,’ Tallemach snapped back.

‘I think they’ll do it,’ Heathfield said. ‘Given the right leadership!’

Tallemach exploded. ‘Are you suggesting they’re
not
getting the right leadership?’

In fact, that very thing had crossed Heathfield’s mind but he realised he’d gone too far and he hastily withdrew. ‘Not at all,’ he said coldly. ‘I was merely suggesting that it looks as if it’s going to be a difficult sort of show and it’s a case of make do and mend.’

‘Make do and mend
what?’
Tallemach demanded. ‘We’ve nothing to mend! We’ve got the wrong lorries, the wrong road, not enough boats, and as far as I can make out, no mortar bombs and hand grenades!’

‘Is Yuell still going on about that?’ Heathfield said, trying to side-track.

‘Yes, he is,’ Tallemach snapped. ‘And with good reason! Nobody can fight a battle without weapons.’

‘Look–’ Heathfield was patient – ‘they’re on their way. I’ve been following them every inch of the route. Yuell made it very clear he was depending on them and I’ve tried to make sure he gets them. We can hardly be blamed for the rain and the wet road and the accident that threw the lorries into the ravine.’

‘They should have been up long before then.’

‘Where were we to get the lorries? Italy’s been denuded of men, machines and guns, as you well know. You’ve just said yourself they’re scarce. And now Army have set up their own crossing, and because they’re higher up the scale than we are, they’ve grabbed most of what was going.’

‘I still consider we’ve been badly let down.’

‘Do you wish me to pass that on to the general?’ Heath-field asked silkily.

He’d expected that with this mild threat Tallemach would withdraw, but Tallemach didn’t.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You can. And if you like to write it out for me, I’ll sign it.’

Yuell had by now moved to Capodozzi where the Scammells had off-loaded the boats in a wood and the Engineers were assembling them.

They were a scow-type craft with a square stern and flat bottom, thirteen feet long and more than five feet wide. They weighed four hundred and ten pounds, and held twelve men and a crew of two. They were bulky and awkward to carry, and were normally transported to the river by truck. There were also some rubber craft but they were large, easily punctured, difficult to paddle, easy to capsize and hard to beach.

Yuell examined the boats carefully. The scows had canvas sides, held in place by wooden pegs, and in some cases the paddles were missing.

‘They’ll have to use their rifle butts,’ he growled. ‘Is this the lot?’

‘All we’ve been given, sir,’ the RASC sergeant in charge said. ‘We were told the boats would have to be brought back for a second load.’

Yuell frowned. They couldn’t hope to succeed if they were going to cross in penny numbers. With every crossing they made the chances of being hit increased.

‘Is it possible to make rafts?’ he asked.

‘Sir–’ the RASC sergeant was pointedly polite ‘with respect, I reckon you’ve been here longer than I have but I’ve seen nothing to make rafts of. If you know of anything, I’d be glad…’

‘Never mind, Sergeant,’ Yuell said tiredly. ‘You’re quite right, of course. There is nothing. This place has long since been stripped bare of wood for fuel. Everybody’s been so damned cold and so damned wet for so long.’

The actualities of war, the imponderables, were taking over: the narrow road from Capodozzi, the officer – whoever he was – who had said that it was fit to use, the loading of the boats on to Scammells instead of ordinary lorries, the accident to the grenades and mortar bombs, the absence of hot food, the unbelievable amount of rain that had fallen.

Yuell made his way to his jeep and headed back to San Bartolomeo where he ran into a traffic jam so appalling he had to get out and walk. Tanks supposed to be parked in an orchard, where there wasn’t room for half of them, were struggling to get off the road and holding up the bridging material which in its turn was holding up the ammunition trucks trying to reach the guns. There was also a convoy of ambulances, brought in because fresh mines had been laid on both sides of the river adjoining the bridge. The Engineers were doing their best to lift them and clear the area; but they couldn’t guarantee complete success, and casualties had in consequence to be anticipated. The whole scene was one of confusion, frustration and exploding tempers.

One thing was clear. Neither sufficient time nor thought had been given to the details of the operation. Despite the problem of the boats, Yuell began to feel glad that he and his men would be using the Capodozzi route. It would be a long trek in the darkness carrying their awkward loads, but the alternative of advancing along the road to the bridge would surely lead them into nothing short of complete chaos.

The German guns were already pecking away at the rear areas as the afternoon wore on. By the end of the day they were hammering steadily at all three routes to the river.

The Yellowjackets, he heard, had already suffered casualties in Foiano, and eventually a few long-range shells started dropping in and around Capodozzi and San Bartolomeo. Two or three lorries were hit and a few men were killed.

Then, waiting impatiently for his mortar bombs and grenades, Yuell was informed that a long-range stonk had wiped out the mule train as it had approached the town. Those mortar bombs and grenades that hadn’t gone up to splatter the mules all over the countryside were now scattered among the bushes and trees and undergrowth. Groups of men were trying to collect and hurry them forward, but undoubtedly a lot of them were gone for good.

Yuell’s lips were tight and his eyes hard as he went to see the colonel of the Baluchis, to try to scrounge grenades from him.

The Baluchis’ officer wasn’t very keen to hand over the small supply he already possessed. ‘If the others don’t come up,’ he pointed out, ‘my Baluchis’ll be going in with nothing.’

‘So will we,’ Yuell said. ‘And that won’t be much help against untouched troops.’

In the end they agreed to share the grenades, which left neither of them satisfied, and as Yuell set off back to his headquarters the Baluchis’ colonel went off to inspect the wreckage of the mule train which had been hit and see if he could salvage something from the mess himself.

As Yuell returned to his headquarters once more, the Engineer colonel was waiting to ask for his help.

‘I need men,’ he said.

‘You can’t have mine,’ Yuell said briskly.

‘Look–’ the Engineer sounded worried – ‘if I don’t get my material down to the river in time
you’re
going to be stranded on the other side without support. Whoever chose that road didn’t give much thought to it. We can’t dump material on the verges because they’re mined. We’re trying to clear them now, but it’s getting dark and there are a lot of them, and if your chaps could assist by carrying, it’d help.’

‘They’ll be carrying boats down the track from Capodozzi in a few hours time.’

‘Can’t you at least spare a few to help us down the road from San Bartolomeo? We’ve improvised footbridges but we need help to get them to the river. I’ll have men there to show what’s to be done, and they’ll stay to handle the guy lines, but we can’t do anything unless someone helps carry the planking down. My lorries are already full of pontoons and Bailey panels.’

His mind already busy with problems, Yuell considered. He knew his men had to have the bridge the Engineers were going to throw across, and to have the bridge it seemed they would have to help to carry it to the river. An operation that called for many hours of careful planning seemed to have been conceived in haste, with complicated staff work so careless that the most elementary mistakes were now creating chaos even before zero hour. He did a bit of juggling with his plans.

‘I can let you have half a company,’ he said. ‘Will that do?’

The Engineer nodded. ‘Thanks. I could have done with more but I’m grateful. I’ll try to get a few of the Indian muleteers as well.’

Yuell found Warley sitting in the ruined house where he had set up A Company headquarters, writing a letter to Graziella Vanvitelli. It wasn’t easy to feel romantic sitting on an ammunition box with the rain dripping down his neck from the shattered roof, but Warley was managing surprisingly well. Somehow the situation seemed to call for warmth and tenderness, if only to combat the starkness of his surroundings. Love, he decided, was a sort of self-immolation and, though he’d thought himself in love before, this time it left him dizzy and for once he didn’t care and was quite happy to be swept along by it.

‘Mark, I’m sorry,’ Yuell said, ‘but the Engineers are in difficulties. They’re short of men and I’ve said I’ll lend them half a company to get their stuff down to the river. You’ll have to move off earlier than expected.’