Christopher Nuttall - The Invasion of 1950

Odd , he thought. The flames were rising up from a village, one that seemed to be deserted. The fires were spreading out of control and, judging from some of the marks surrounding the village, the Germans had passed through recently.

He ground his teeth as he followed the tracks, finally locating the German force, digging into a perfect blocking position, one that would allow them to hold up the advancing 2nd Armoured Division for hours. He keyed his radio and made a call, sending an update to the gunners which would be moving forward with the other elements of the army, before selecting his rocket pods and racing down to hit the Germans before they could react. They knew he was in the area. He raced towards them, taking aim, and launched the first spread of rockets as he passed over the Panzers. The first rocket blew apart a Panzer as he raced overhead, the others scored their own hits and then he was up again, racing to avoid the handful of shots from the anti-aircraft gunners.

Take that , he thought, as the Tempest clawed for air. He’d made a Zone Call, summoning every gun within range to devote all of its fire to hammering the German position, and as he watched, the first shells began landing around the German force. The advancing British infantry and tanks would have a much easier time of it. Bentley smiled to himself and checked his weapons before flipping the Tempest around and searching for new targets. There would be hundreds more out there needing his attention.

The German position held out for nearly an hour before the combination of shellfire and the advancing infantry finally cleared them out. Jackson watched from his vantage point as Sergeant Wilt led the offensive right into the heart of the German position, either securing or finishing off injured Germans. Jackson followed him as soon as most of the Germans had been removed. The Germans had been planning a real surprise, with several dozen Panzers and various other vehicles in position to launch an ambush, but that hope had come to an end with their discovery and the massive bombardment called in on their heads.

Serves you right, Jackson thought, as he peered down at one of the bodies. There was no mistaking the black uniform and silver insignia that each man wore; the lightning bolts and sideways ‘Z’ were very familiar. The officer he was looking at had a bandage on his shoulder and an explosion had taken off a good part of his face. From the rank insignia, Jackson was sure this was his opposite number. This man had clearly been in command of the SS force

Jackson could speak and read German — it was a requirement these days for any senior army post — and the Germans looked to have been Das Reich . They had a bad reputation from the Russian front as being as fanatical and unpleasant as any other German unit, matched only by the awed respect some of the survivors had exhibited when they had talked about its sheer prowess at fighting. If they had remained unnoticed long enough for the British forces to stick their head into the noose, who knew what would have happened?

“Move the prisoners to the rear and let’s move on,” Jackson said. Monty’s follow-up units would be clearing out the remaining Germans as they advanced towards Ipswich, but organised German activity now was limited. A series of brutal and local counter-attacks had exploded in the British face, some of them throwing back oncoming British troops for hours.

He paused to watch as a line of tanks rumbled past, some of their crewmen waving to the infantry as they paused to catch their breath and have a cigarette. The tankers looked as battered as everyone else, but just being on the offensive was enough of a thrill to keep them going, far from the dark days when they had fallen back and fallen back again. Jackson knew that the war wouldn’t end when Felixstowe was liberated, but perhaps the Germans would see reason and not continue the war, or maybe even overthrow Hitler and…

It was an hour later when they discovered the village.

It hadn’t been on the list of primary locations to secure, it was something for them to do while Monty consolidated his gains and prepared for the final advance. Jackson and his tired infantrymen had walked along the road, noticing that the SS Panzer Division had come down it from all the damage its passage had done to the road, and finally reached the burning village. The flames were dying down now. The church was barely recognisable as such, but the remains of scores of bodies were easy to recognise, as were the handful of surviving children in the village. The Germans had just left them there to die.

He heard the noise of some of his soldiers being sick and cursed the Germans under his breath. They had thought they understood war and the effects of war.

Jackson stared into the distance, towards Ipswich, and vowed revenge.

Felixstowe, England

The small body of SS men looked nervous as they walked down the road. Their swagger, their normal ‘we’re the masters around here and don’t even think of questioning us’ attitude, their confidence in themselves… all of it was gone. They were armed with weapons that the British civilians didn’t have — hell, most of the British civilians didn’t have any weapons at all — but somehow they looked as if they expected to be kicked at any moment. Their leader, a fish-faced man holding his rifle in a white-knuckled grip, was a known rapist. He’d raped a girl last night, only to be arrested by the police and released instantly. The policemen had all been taken into one of the German detention camps the same night, just in case. The Germans were losing their grip over the country.

Gregory Davall observed the Germans with the hungry gaze of a predator as they marched closer. He’d seen more Germans than he ever wanted to in his life, but this group was the worst; they marched as if they thought someone was going to draw a gun and start shooting at them. The remaining SS security forces had given up trying to control entire sections of the town. They were trying to conserve their forces… and, if what the Grey Wolves had heard was true, half of them had even been sent to the front. If they were all like the sorry specimens approaching them, the British Army would be at Felixstowe within the hour… but somehow he doubted it. They could hear the sound of guns in the distance, but there was no sign of liberation, not yet.

“Now,” he ordered, and Lucy slipped out of the house. Lucy was the wife of one of the Grey Wolves, a blonde girl who could easily have passed for the German bitch who had registered Davall and Katy, so long ago. He watched as Lucy slipped up to the Germans and told them, tearfully, that there was a group of unarmed men in the house plotting insurrection and would they please come take them away before they got her and her family killed? Davall had feared that the Germans would do the smart thing and call for reinforcements before they came crashing in, but instead they ran up to the door, weapons extended, and charged into the house. They ran into the kitchen, and the Grey Wolves surrounded them, weapons pointing directly at their chests.

“You have a choice,” Davall said in perfect German. He’d been practising for his role. “If you surrender now, your lives will be spared, and you will be shipped back to the continent as soon as possible. If you fight, you will die here with the others.”

The German leader, sweating, let go of his weapon. The others followed suit a moment later. Lucy slipped back indoors and looked down at them for a moment before heading up to her bedroom. She wasn’t going to be involved any longer. If the Germans managed to hold onto Felixstowe, she would have to go into hiding, but Davall intended to ensure that the German grip on the town fell apart completely.