Page 39 of Clive Cussler The Iron Storm
As they rumbled across the inner courtyard, Bell and Holmes climbed inside the steel monster. Two of the former tank crew were at the back of the vehicle working the mechanical clutches that controlled each track in order to steer the vehicle. They were taking cues from one of the other former tankers up in the front of the vehicle who was looking through a periscope.
It was already hot in the surprisingly cramped interior. There was just barely enough light to see. The engine was placed in the center of the crew compartment and leaked exhaust at dangerous levels. Bell’s eyes watered at the chemical stench. He decided then and there that the inside of a tank was a hellish place.
Now that Holmes was no longer firing the Spandau, German guards began taking potshots at the Mark II, their bullets pinging harmlessly against the armor. However, the sheer volume of theirfire made it sound like they were trapped inside a continuously ringing bell.
The Mark II was notoriously underpowered, and thus slow, capable of barely moving above a walking pace. The Germans who’d captured her, forever the great tinkerers of Europe, had replaced the Foster-Daimler engine with a Mercedes power plant with twice the horsepower. The driving was erratic because of the increased speed and the unfamiliarity of its new crew, but they got the tank across the courtyard and were quickly approaching the main gate.
It was then that the huge portcullis dropped from the gate tower with a solid crash and now blocked the castle’s only exit. The tank braked to a stop. Bell and Holmes rushed forward to peer through the driver’s periscope. The wood that comprised the latticed gate was far too thick for the vehicle to crash through like they had back at the motor pool. And remaining stationary would make them vulnerable to hand grenades or a carefully placed satchel charge.
Holmes and Bell rushed back to the sponson-housed 57-millimeter Hotchkiss cannons. Bell had never fired such a weapon before, but it was a straightforward design and he could intuit how it all worked. He slid one of the heavy high-explosive shells into the breach and closed it by rotating a lever and put a hand around the grip/trigger assembly. He sighted through the brass telescope atop the gun and moved it via a long, padded handle.
He quickly lined up the gun at the stonework just above the portcullis and fired. The sound inside the tank was an assault to the ears that was physically painful. The explosive shell detonated almost immediately, cratering a barrel-sized hole in the stone. Debris crashed to the ground amid waves of dust. Holmes took his shot as Bell reloaded his gun. More of the stone and wood framing that kept the gate upright was blown away.
One of the brakemen had taken the Spandau back through the roof hatch and was hammering away at any Germans daring to approach the renegade tank while Bell and Holmes fired salvo after salvo until the top of the gatehouse was a shattered ruin and the portcullis swayed like an unsecured garden gate. One last shot from Holmes’s Hotchkiss six-pounder blew the last remaining link between the portcullis and the castle and it crashed to the ground atop a pile of rubble.
The tank lurched into motion, a signal to the topside machine gunner to get back into position. They lumbered through the ruined gate, climbing up the mountain of debris until the tank reached a tipping point at the top and crashed down on the far side in a jarring collision that nearly sent Bell tumbling. Unharmed, they continued on. The left sponson scraped against the side of the gate because they weren’t perfectly centered, but they made it through as the Germans pummeled the rear of the tank with rifle fire.
They started across the long stone bridge, accelerating to get out of the reach of the pursuing German soldiers. The tank wasn’t fast enough, even with its new engine. They were taking too much fire and someone was bound to go after them with an anti-tank gun capable of shredding one of the caterpillar treads.
Bell tapped the driver’s shoulder and made a rotating gesture with his hands. The man understood and signaled the clutch operators in the rear. He then slowed the tank to barely a crawl and had the right-side tread stop completely. The Mark II turned on its own axis, coming around in one long smooth arc. Bell was already back at his gunner’s position. He lowered the gun’s aim and fired. The high explosive slammed into the roadway in between two of the bridge’s anchoring piers.
Ears ringing, he shouted over to Holmes, “Hit the same spot.”
The Brit caught what Bell was up to and together the two sent a dozen high-explosive shells into the ancient structure. Each explosion tore more stones out of position, adding to the load the rest had to carry for the bridge to remain intact. Three more shells slammed into the structure and it was all the punishment the old span could take. As if in slow motion, mortared rocks began falling from under the arch, first in ones and twos and then more. Finally, in a catastrophic moment the section of bridge between their solid supports collapsed into the moat, sending waves expanding outward like miniature tsunamis.
The driver spun them around once again and continued their journey of escape. For good measure he rammed several telephone poles that stood on the edge of the remaining bridge sections, knocking them flat and snapping the wires. The Germans at the castle were effectively cut off.
They trundled along for another few minutes, Bell and Holmes sitting on top of the tank to get away from the unmuffled engine’s roar and stink. Bell spotted something up ahead and was about to shout a warning, when a blast erupted from a hidden bunker and a cannon shell shrieked through the night.
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What Bell had spotted wasa sandbagged redoubt for a sentry gun. It was a Krupp FK 96, an older-model field cannon that was being replaced in frontline units because of its poor range. But firing this night at the rampaging tank, the range was point-blank.
The 77-millimeter armor-piercing shell hit the left track just below its return roller. The tread came apart in a spectacular shower of shrapnel, some of which penetrated the Mark II armor, but fortunately didn’t hit any of the men. The tank slewed hard to the left as the right tread kept working, while the left was torn off the vehicle.
Knowing how quickly he could load and fire the tank’s cannon as a rank amateur, Bell assumed a trained German gun crew could get another round into the tank in a handful of seconds. He and Holmes jumped free of the vulnerable Mark II just as the door in the left sponson was thrown open and the men came out in a diving rush. The field gun spat once more, and this time the shell tore throughthe half-inch armor and slammed into the engine block with enough kinetic energy to tear it from its mounts.
Gasoline gushed from the ruptured line, igniting seconds later, so the last man out of the tank was chased by a roiling ball of flame. Fire and smoke billowed from the hatch the Germans had installed to swap out the engine and very soon the buildup of heat caused the ammunition to reach a critical temperature. Fifty-seven-millimeter rounds started going off, their propellant charges and warheads detonating with enough force to rip the tank’s armor like paper. Bell and the Allied flyers raced for a ditch along the side of the road and hunkered down as the tank lit off like some nightmare fireworks show.
Two hundred yards down the road, the German gun crew sheltered behind their cannon’s splinter shield until the last of the ammunition had gone off and the tank sat quiet save the flames still eating away the paint and the last of the engine oil.
Bell looked at the woods a hundred yards off and thought about making a run for it. It was still dark enough to give him some cover, but it was too much of an obvious plan. The Germans would be on him like a pack of dogs before he got halfway. Better to wait for a better opportunity in whatever chaos the night still held.
The escapees rose to their feet and raised their arms when six armed guards rushed past the tank and surrounded them. They were then marched to the gun emplacement.
While the FK 96 needed a five-man crew, the sandbagged defensive position was big enough for a ten-man complement to guard the road leading to the castle. They had gotten word from the German headquarters about the renegade tank before the telephone wires came down because the field cannon usually pointed up the road and not back at the castle, as it was now.
With a rifle barrel, one of the guards told them where to sit and he and another guard stood over them while the crew returned their gun to its proper position and swabbed out the barrel and lubricated the breach. Bell could tell they were unsure and apprehensive without direct contact with their superiors back in the castle.
Holmes noticed it, too, and whispered, “There is opportunity in disarray.”
Bell nodded and watched.
After a few minutes with nothing to do, the squad sergeant, who looked young enough for this to be his first command, sent a private and a corporal back to the castle to assess the situation there and possibly receive fresh orders concerning the recaptured airmen.
A couple of the gunners ate an early breakfast of slightly molded bread and cheese. Bell wasn’t particularly hungry, but the water sloshing in their canteens worsened his thirst. He pointed to a canteen, but was ignored.
A truck arriving from the main road at the bottom of the valley started lumbering up the access road, its engine struggling with the gradient. They couldn’t yet see the vehicle, nor its headlights in the darkness, but they could follow its progress by the sound of its overtaxed motor.
